I Wish I May
by StBridget
Summary: AU. Tony finds a genie in a bottle, but his wishes don't turn out quite how he planned. McNozzo preslash/slash


Note: NCIS belongs to CBS and its creators

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They were on a case, questioning an antique store owner, when Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo saw the bottle. It sat on the edge of a dusty shelf behind the counter. It was dark blue, almost opaque, about the size of a bud vase, with a matching blue stopper. Tony wasn't a collector, and there was no reason for the bottle to catch his eye, but for some reason it did.

"How much for the bottle?" He asked the shopkeeper when they were done questioning him.

The shop owner looked around. "That old thing? It's been sitting around forever. Was beginning to think no one was ever going to buy it. Five bucks."

"Sold." Tony pulled out his wallet and handed the shopkeeper a five. They left the store, no further along in their case, but with Tony now the proud owner of an antique bottle.

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Alone in his apartment that night, Tony pondered the bottle. He had no idea why he had felt compelled to buy it, but once he'd seen it, he just couldn't walk away. It was covered in dust, so he got a rag to rub it clean.

Suddenly, smoke billowed out of the bottle, and a figure appeared in front of Tony. "What the hell?!"

"I am Tim, the genie of the bottle. What is your wish?"

Tony eyed the genie (a genie? Really? What, had he stepped into some sort of fairy tale? He was stone cold sober, so it wasn't a drunken hallucination. Okay, so he really did have a genie in the middle of his living room). The man was reasonably tall, brown-haired, green-eyed, and glad in a billowing blue shirt and harem pants, the same color as the bottle. He wasn't heart-stoppingly gorgeous, but he was attractive, and Tony felt his breath catch. Then the genie's words sank in. "My wish?"

"Yes, your wish," the genie said impatiently. "You get three wishes. I'm sure you know the drill. No wishing for more wishes, no bringing someone back to life, no killing anyone, no making someone fall in love with you or do anything else against their will. Other than that, use your imagination and go wild."

Tony's mind went blank. "What do people usually wish for?"

The genie let out a long-suffering sigh. "You know, the usual. Money, power, fame, and so on and so forth."

"Money. Yeah, that sounds good. I wish I had a fortune."

The genie snapped his fingers. "Done. Now, unless you have any further wishes, I'm going back in my bottle."

"No, that'll be it." The genie started to disappear. "Wait—how will I know my wish came true?"

"Oh, don't worry. You'll know."

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When Tony woke up the next morning, nothing seemed different. He checked his bank balance, and it was the same as it had been the last time he checked. Okay, so much for that. It must have been a hallucination after all.

Then the phone rang. "Hello?"

"Is this Anthony DiNozzo, Junior?" An unfamiliar voice asked.

"Speaking."

"I'm calling from Mercy Medical Center in New York. I regret to inform you your father passed away of a heart attack this morning."

"What? No, you must be wrong. You must have the wrong person or something."

"Your father is Anthony DiNozzo, Senior, is he not?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry, but there's no mistake. You have my sympathies."

Tony hung up in a daze. It wasn't possible. His father couldn't be dead. He'd just talked to him. . .Tony actually couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to his father, and now he'd never get another chance.

Tony called into work and proceeded to get very, very drunk.

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The next call came late that afternoon, from his father's lawyer. After again confirming his identity, the secretary transferred him to the lawyer.

"I'm calling in regards to your father's will," the lawyer said. "You've been named the sole beneficiary."

Tony was stunned. He and his father had never been very close, and he'd never expected to be the sole beneficiary. Then again, he was an only child, and there wasn't any other family. "How much?"

"Well, the will will have to go through probate, and there's the matter of taxes, lawyer's fees, medical expenses, and such, but all told, you tend to inherit quite a tidy sum."

"How much is that in dollars?"

"As I said, I can't say precisely at this time, but I can say with confidence you will be quite wealthy."

Once again, Tony hung up the phone in a daze. He was wealthy. His father had a fortune, and now it was his. That rang a bell in his head. A fortune. . .Shit.

Tony found the bottle and hurled it against the wall. It bounced harmlessly to the floor. Tony picked it up and rubbed it furiously. "Come out here, you son of a bitch!"

Tim appeared. "You summoned me?"

"Yes, I did! This is all your fault!"

"What is?" Tim asked, confused.

"My father's dead and it's all your fault!"

"Ah." Tim nodded sagely. "Let me guess, your father was wealthy."

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm guessing that you were his heir, and now you're wealthy. Isn't that what you wished for?"

"Yes, but not that way!"

Tim looked puzzled. "Then how? The money had to come from somewhere. Plausibility, you know. Wealth just doesn't materialize out of nowhere. How would you explain it?"

Tony had to admit that made sense, but still. . . "I have my own investments. Why couldn't one of them have paid off big time?"

Tim shrugged. "I'm guessing the universe figured this was the most plausible way."

"No! I refuse to believe it! I take my wish back!"

Tim looked genuinely sorry. "I'm sorry, but I can't bring anyone back from the dead. What's done is done."

"Dammit!" Tony moved as if to throw the bottle again, but instead brought his hand down and crumpled to the floor, sobbing. "This can't be happening. This can't! What am I supposed to do?"

"I'm sorry. I wish I could help," Tim said sympathetically. Tony just continued to sob. Tim moved to kneel in front of him, folding him in his arms. "I'm sorry. I'm truly, truly sorry."

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Over the next few days, a pattern developed. In the morning, Tony would go to work and pretend everything was fine, but at night he'd come home, start drinking, rub the bottle, and yell at Tim before he collapsed, sobbing. He'd wake up the next morning, tucked into bed, cradled in Tim's arms.

Gradually, the drinking and yelling subsided, but Tony would still rub the lamp each night and sped the evening pouring his heart out to Tim about his father, his childhood, and all his emotional baggage. Each morning, he'd still wake up in Tim's arms.

One night, that changed. Tony came home and slammed the door. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Tim appeared without waiting to be summoned, as had become his habit. "Is something wrong?"

"Goddamn bastard killed six marines. Not just killed them, gutted them and left them to bleed out. He's guilty, I know he's guilty, but there's not one shred of evidence, and he's going to walk."

"I'm sorry. Is there something I can do?"

An idea struck Tony. "Yeah, yeah there is. I wish we'd solve this case. No, I wish we'd solve all our cases."

Tim snapped his fingers. "Done. Now, if that's all. . ." He made a move as if to disappear.

Tony grabbed his arm. "No, stay, please."

"Is that a wish?"

"No, not a wish, just. . .a request. Stay. I. . .I've gotten used to you being here."

Tim nodded. "Alright. I'll stay."

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The next day, the case was not miraculously solved, but they did get a break in a cold case. Tony came home and rubbed the lamp. "Is this how it's going to be?"

"Is what how it's going to be?" Tim asked.

"Are we not going to solve our live cases but solve all our cold cases?"

Tim thought for a minute. "No, I don't think so. Don't you usually sometimes solve cases when they're live, and sometimes solve them when they're cold?"

Tony thought about that. "Yeah, I guess so. So what you're saying, is we'll solve them all, but sometimes they'll be hot, and sometimes they'll be cold."

Tim nodded. "Yes. After all, that the most. . ."

"Plausible," Tony finished. "Yeah, I know."

The next day they solved the case of the six murdered marines.

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After that, things settled into a routine. Tony would go to work, and his team would solve cases, day after day, sometimes live, sometimes cold, until their solve rate was near 100%. Then he'd come home, call Tim out of the bottle, talk to him about anything and everything for hours, and ask him to stay. Then Tony would fall asleep in Tim's arms. Eventually, Tony didn't even have to ask.

One night, Tony woke in the middle of the night, Tim sleeping beside him. Tony snuggled closer and sighed contentedly. He wished he could go on like this forever, but eventually he'd make his third wish and Tim would be gone. Unless. . .no, that wouldn't work; Tim couldn't make anyone fall in love with him. But there had to be someone out there to make him feel like this all the time. If not Tim, then someone else. Tony made up his mind for his third wish.

Tim stirred as if he could sense Tony's thoughts. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, I'm ready to make my third wish." He sat up, and Tim sat up, too. Looking Tim straight in the eye, Tony made his wish. "I wish to find true love."

"Done." No finger snap this time. Instead, Tim leaned in and pressed his lips to Tony's.

Tony kissed back eagerly. The kiss, at the risk of sounding corny, was magical. Tony opened his mouth, and Tim's tongue immediately tangled with his. Tony pressed against Tim, deepening the kiss. He couldn't believe how good it made him feel. He never wanted it to end. At last, however, it did.

"Wow." Tony looked into Tim's eyes, surprised and relieved to find the love shining there. "I was hoping it would be you, but I was afraid. . . "

Tim smiled, but Tony detected a hint of sadness. "It was me. It was always me. I knew from the moment you bought my bottle it was destined. And now, good bye." Tim placed a last kiss on Tony's lips and began to fade away.

"No, wait, you can't!"

The fading shape paused, hanging in the air, barely there. "I must. It's your third wish. I'm sorry."

"No!" Tony reached for Tim, but he was gone. "Shit." There was no chalking this up to "plausibility". This was just the universe fucking with him. Tony refused to accept it. There had to be a way to get Tim back. He grabbed the bottle and rubbed it, but nothing happened, not surprisingly. Okay, then, there must be some other way.

Tony thought about everything he knew about genies. They lived in bottles, or lamps, or whatever. They granted wishes. They were bound to whoever had the bottle. Something niggled at Tony's brain, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The bottle. Maybe that was it. Whoever had the bottle had the genie, but what if there was no bottle?

Tony grabbed the bottle and hurled it into the wall, but just as before, it bounced harmlessly to the floor. He picked it up and carried it into the kitchen, slamming it with all him might into the linoleum floor. More bouncing. He slammed it into the edge of the counter. Nothing.

The damn thing couldn't be invincible. There had to be something. Tony thought. Ah, ha! He went to the hall closet and found the toolbox his boss, Gibbs, had given him. Yep, there it was, a hammer.

Tony positioned the bottle on its side on the kitchen counter and held it steady with one hand. With the other, he swung the hammer with all his might. The bottled smashed into smithereens with a satisfying sound, and a familiar cloud of smoke billowed out. When it cleared, there was Tim, smiling at him. "You figured it out."

Tony grinned back. "I figured it out. I'm not Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo for nothing."

"I'm glad. And I'm glad you figured it out so fast. I was afraid you wouldn't."

"Not a chance". Tony gathered Tim into his arms. "So is this it? No more bottles, no more wishes?"

"This is it," Tim confirmed. "Happily ever after."

Tony kissed him soundly, knowing this time Tim wouldn't be leaving. "Happily ever after. I like the sound of that."


End file.
